Shaking my head, I slide myself off of Titan’s back, feeling the solid ground beneath my feet again. I move to stand before him and stare into his intelligent chocolate eyes, seeing a depth there that speaks of more than mere animal intelligence. “He deserves to be free. Let him serve when he is willing to, not on demand.” I reach up and take the bridle off of him, then the saddle, the leather heavy in my hands. He rests his magnificent head against me and rubs his face on my side, the gesture so tender it makes my chest tight with emotion.
“This is exactly why he allowed you on him,” Hemlocke says with a smile that transforms his entire face.
“How do you know?” I stare into Hemlocke’s pink eyes, seeing something ancient and knowing in their depths.
“I’m a black unicorn—we can hear and understand all equines. He really likes you and chooses you as his rider.” He motions to Titan, who seems to nod in agreement.
I hug Titan around the neck, breathing in his scent of hay and warmth and something wilder. “Thank you; I appreciate the honor.” I turn and start walking back toward the stables, and I feel Titan sniffing my wings, his breath warm through the membrane. “Flight is fun—Mom already told me I can’t fly for the processional.” He makes a deep, almost rumbling sound that vibrates through his chest. “I know, I think it’s bullshit too.”
“You understood him?” Hemlocke asks, moving to put Titan’s halter back on. I reach out and stop him, my hand gentle but firm on his wrist.
“He doesn’t need that.” Titan turns his head and nods, the gesture so human-like it makes me laugh. “You’re welcome. And no, I didn’t understand him—it’s kind of clear in his actions what he means.” I motion to my wings, feeling the membrane flex slightly. “He touched and sniffed my wings, so I assumed he was questioning why I wasn’t allowed to fly. More than likely because I have a very large wingspan.”
“That was very close to what he was asking,” Hemlocke says as he brushes Titan on the other side, his movements smooth and practiced. “He was curious about how a female has wings and needs to ride when you can fly.”
I laugh a little; the sound echoing in the stable’s rafters. “My sister Lily is Abraxis’s daughter, and she doesn’t have wings. Once every so many generations, a female is born with wings. It speaks more of the strength of the bloodline and not the person with the wings.” Shruggingmy shoulders, I continue brushing Titan, feeling the rhythm become meditative.
“You’re not like the other black dragons I’ve met,” Hemlocke says as he looks at me over Titan’s back, his pink eyes thoughtful.
Shaking my head, I stare at the path the brush is taken through the midnight coat. “I don’t enjoy fighting. I’d rather be a tactician or a cartographer.” I get down and grab the comb and detangle, the tools familiar in my hands now, and move the stepladder to work on Titan’s mane. “Let me know if I’m hurting you, Titan. Just turn your head and touch me, and I’ll stop.” He nods his head, and it makes me laugh a little. Who knew warhorses could be so much fun?
When we’re finished, Titan’s coat gleaming like polished obsidian in the stable light, Hemlocke takes him back to his stall. I watch them go, feeling oddly bereft at the separation. I leave the stable with reluctance, stepping back into the afternoon air that feels cool after the warmth inside.
Corvis is having issues with his horse, the gray war horse dancing sideways and tossing its head, so I decide to fly home alone. With one problem solved, up next are classes tomorrow and dress shopping at some point. My biggest concern weighs on me like a stone—everyone seeing all of my scales. I possess as many as my mom does, and I haven’t hit wyrm status yet. The thought of that level of exposure makes my skin crawl with anxiety.
Chapter 8
Raven
“Wake up,sleepyhead. We’re gonna be late.” Thorne’s voice cuts through my dreams like nails on stone, and I crack open one sapphire eye. The morning light streaming through the dormitory window catches something blue on my pillow—a piece of sea glass shaped like a crescent moon, smooth and cool against the white cotton.
I sit up slowly, my black wings rustling against the sheets as I pick up the glass. It feels warm, as if someone’s fingers just released it. “Did you put this on my pillow?” I hold it up, letting the light filter through its translucent surface so Thorne and Lily can see.
“No.” Lily shakes her head, her black hair gleaming in the sunlight as she grabs her pack. The leather straps creak as she slings it over her shoulder and leaves without another word.
“I know I didn’t do it.” Thorne gestures toward the side table behind me, her brow furrowed. “When did you put seashells there?”
I turn and see them—three perfect shells arranged in a careful line, their pearlescent surfaces gleaming. A smile tugs at my lips despite the chill that runs down my spine. “I didn’t. I guess my mate did.” The thought should thrill me, but part of me recoils at the idea of himbeing in my room while I slept. Then again, the only beings I know who would help him slip past our defenses are my dad Ziggy or my sisters Belle and Azalea.
“The plot thickens...” Thorne laughs, the sound bright in the quiet room as she slips into the school uniform. The fabric rustles as she moves. I’m thankful that when Dad took over the academy, he made it possible for females to wear pants instead of those ridiculous skirts.
I dress quickly, the familiar weight of my leathers reassuring as I pack them for later. I have one class outside of Shadowcarve today—dragon biology. It’s a course Dad helped write with Klauth to teach us the things that used to be pure instinct, before our kind started losing touch with their primal nature.
“Are we hitting the cafeteria before class?” Thorne asks, hefting her book-heavy bag with a grunt.
“You go ahead. I’m heading straight to class.” I walk out arm in arm with her, our footsteps echoing in the stone corridor. We make our way downstairs and outside, where the crisp morning air fills my lungs and makes my wings twitch with the urge to fly. We walk together to the halfway point before she turns right toward the cafeteria, leaving me alone with the scent of pine and distant wood smoke.
I stare at the Arcanum Campus, watching the different species mill about—dragons in their human forms moving with predatory grace, naga slithering between groups with serpentine elegance, guard drakes keeping watchful positions around the grounds. I take several minutes to steel myself before heading into the building.
A large sign just inside the glass doors points left for dragon biology. What could they possibly teach us we don’t already know? I step into the auditorium, my boots silent on the carpeted floor as I move to the far right side. Here, I have solid walls at my back and right side. From this position, I can see the entire class and every entrance.
I scan the room methodically—exits, windows that open and don’t, sight lines. What catches my attention most is the balcony level above me. Before the room fills completely, I walk down the aisle far enough to look up. There’s an open space and a door up there, plus another door behind the stage curtain. Multiple entry points. Too many vulnerabilities. I return to my seat and toss my pack on the chair beside me, saving it for Thorne.
Five minutes before class starts, Thorne strolls in with two glazed donuts in her hands. The sweet scent of sugar and yeast makes my mouth water. “I brought you one. Daddy Vaughn says they’re the best on campus.”
I accept the treat, the glaze still warm on my fingers, and take a bite as Samara slithers onto the stage. Her scales catch the overhead lights, creating patterns of green and gold. “Welcome to your Dragon Biology class.” The heavy doors slam shut with a metallic clang, and the room falls silent. “I know what you’re thinking. What can a gorgon teach me about myself that I don’t already know?” She moves closer to the edge, her serpentine tail making barely a whisper against the polished floor. “Easy. The things that aren’t apparent to you until you turn twenty-one.”
That gets my attention. I raise my hand, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. She gives me a curt nod. “Does this include mate theory and the signs that a male is our mate? Or how to tell if a male may be our mate before our twenty-first birthday?” I take a breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. I have more questions, but they can wait.
